If You Love Me
by CarmelliaCE
Summary: He did the right thing for the wrong reason.Tezuka, driven by despair and unwillingness to forgive. In the wilderness, he found the perfect vengeance: A woman. He married her, bedded her, and defiantly presented her to his father in England before he turned and left, alone. Ryoma, needed a family. From a Primitive WILD FLOWER to a Lady of a ton. Now he came back, reclaiming a love.
1. Prologue

Hiiiiii~ A new story, stooooory.  
This POT fanfic is based on Elaine Coffman's novel: '_If You Love Me_'.  
Of course, a few changes to be made.

If you have time then please read that wonderful Story. ^o^  
This story is kinda mixed with the classical, tribal and royal type. In England.  
But this story may have no tennis and some charas may be OOC.  
Hope you guys like it.  
Fem Ryoma, Fem Fuji, Fem Yukimura, Fem Shiraishi and Uhmm.. Fem Bakayaaa? :D :D [more details to be in the future chapters~~]  
Uhm.. I present you the story? ^-^""  
_**Disclaimer: I don't own Prince of Tennis nor the novel If You Love Me.**_

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_**England, 1857**_

It was Christmas Eve at Emberly Hall.

The last notes of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps that echoed down the long and wide hall leading to the Grand Ballroom. As the man and his companion passed by, the members of the household staff stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the strange sight, many pausing to whisper, asking just who he was.

" '_Tis the viscount_," whispered the under-butler to the chambermaid. "Saints preserved us. The prodigal son has returned at last."

The butler reached for their coats. The man's companion allowed him to take hers, but the man waved him away.

Without waiting to be announced, the Earl of Warrenton's long-absent son threw open the great carved doors of the mansion and walked in—garbed in a great coat of grizzly fur, flakes of melting snow clinging to his now long and messy hair and some on his glasses.

The sight of him was enough to pull anyone up sharp, even those who had known him when he was a striking figure. It was not so much his great height that marked him but also the careless powerful looked he had.

There was something raw and unapproachable in his face, where the marks of a deep and profound sadness lay.

He was accompanied by a petite woman, the likes of which no one gathered at the Emberly Hall had ever seen, for she wore her hair in two long plaits that hung down her back, and her dress was made of antelope skin, decorated with animal teeth. On her feet were leggings that reached almost to her knees.

She walked like a cat on padded paws, entering the room as silently as a breeze drifting through an open window, passing undetected.

In spite of the gasps of surprise, the whispers of speculation, the shocked looks, the man spoke not a word but strode purposefully to where the Earl of Warrenton stood. He did not remove his great bear coat but merely slipped it back over his shoulders to reveal the worn buckskins beneath.

The woman followed him, walking a respectable distance behind, her head bowed slightly, as if it would be an insult for her to raise it and take a look at her surroundings.

The silence stretched on.

The Earl of Warrenton's long absent son was home at last, and no one dared to breath.

The silence was broken at last, when the earl's wife, Ayana, spoke through the fingers she had spread across her shocked mouth. "Kunimitsu? Dear God above! Is it really you?"

A slight, teasing smile broke through and played about his mouth. "A man can fool anyone but the woman who gave him birth. How are you, darling mother?"

Ignoring the exchange between his wife and son, the Earl of Warrenton's red, mottled face showed the extent of his outrage. "How dare you come in here…among your mother and your sisters and their families, dressed like the heathen you have become."

Ayana put her hand on her husband's arm. "Kuniharu, please…"

Kuniharu jerked his arm away and spoke to his son. "What is the meaning of this!?"

"Why, Father, I have come home for Christmas, as you can see. You did send for me, as I recall. Urgent, I believe the missive said."

Nothing moved. No one dared to speak. The room grew painfully quiet. Outside, even the wind that had been so bravely pelting the windows with icy snow only moments ago seemed to have grown meek and timid.

The only sound that could be heard at all was the heavy breathing of the earl, as anger flared deep in his gray eyes and his neck seemed to swell above his perfectly tied cravat. His nostrils flared as he gave his son a look of disdain. "You've been drinking."

Kunimitsu took a slight bow, wobbled a bit, then righted himself. "I have indeed, but not as much as I plan to." He pulled a bottle out of his coat and brought it to his lips.

His father reached out and slapped the bottle away. It fell with a splintering crash. Bits of glass went skittering across the highly polished floor. The strong smell of whiskey rose from the puddle of liquid on the oak floor to blend with the scents of Christmas that filled the room.

William appeared unfazed, his words coming slow, almost lazy. "I have more bottles.."

Once again, a hush fell over the room. For the longest time, no one said a word. The discomfort stretched on…and on…to the point of snapping.

On tiptoe, the younger children were led from the room. Other members of the family began to whisper as they moved back, as if trying to become one with the background as the battle lines were drawn.

Ayana looked from her husband to her son, as if she fought some inner battle. Then, without a word, she stepped forward and put her arms around her son and hugged him to her. "This is the most splendid Christmas present I could have had. I have prayed for your soul and your safe return since the day you left. I thank God that my prayers have been answered." She kissed his cheek. "Dearest Kunimitsu, I have missed you terribly."

"Thank you, Mother, for your prayers. I have missed you, too." He said, with none of the harshness, the anger in his words that had been present when he spoke to his father.

Ayana's gaze left her son's face and went to the strangely dressed woman who stood forgotten behind him. Only a curious sort of kindness showed in her eyes. "And your friend? Whom have you brought with you, Kunimitsu? Is she from America?"

"Yes, she…"

Kuniharu fingered the Masonic emblem on his watch chain, then stopped suddenly. "What are you doing, bringing a filthy servant into the midst of our family at a time like this? It is Christmas Eve. Have you lost your senses? Has the wild country cause you to forget your manners, your upbringing? Get her out of here! Now!"

"Kuniharu…"

"Stay out of this, Ayana. This is between Kunimitsu and myself. It is no concern of yours." He turned back to Kunimitsu. "Did you hear me? I said get her out of here."

"I heard what you said, but I am afraid you misunderstand. Walks Fast is not my servant."

"I don't care if…"

"She is my wife."

A gasp went around the room.

"Your wife?" Kuniharu's face grew stormy. "By God, is there no limit, no depth to which will you not sink?"

Kunimitsu shrugged. A smile played about his mouth. A spark of triumph gleamed in his eyes. "Apparently not."

And with that, Tezuka Kunimitsu, Viscount Linwood, the only son and heir of the Earl of Warrenton, turned and strode from the grand salon in Emberly Hall, and left his wife behind.

Everyone in the room turned to watch Kunimitsu go.

Everyone, save one person…

Only Ayana turned to look at the girl he had left behind and made an astounding discovery. For it was apparent to anyone who took time to study her, that although the girl was dressed in the garb of Indian…she was White.

The girl was Echizen Ryoma, and this is her story.

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Shooo? How was it? =]  
Please review~ ^ o ^


	2. Ton I

Yeah, Tezuka is gonna be quite OC in this story.. X]  
Oh, thank you for those who reviewed.. I appreciate it. ^ o ^  
With lots of lovey dovey stuffs. :]  
Here's the first chapter, gonna be about Tezuka~! ^-^ and add a Niou to make everything quite interesting. XD I know they are not close but in this story, they are. :]

Oh, I don't own Prince of Tennis..

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_**Crow Territory, September 1857**_

Armed with pencils and paintbrushes, Tezuka Kunimitsu, Viscount Linwood, came from England in the fall of 1854 to hunt Indians.

And find them he did.

For the next three years, he traveled throughout the upper plains painting and sketching pictures of tribal life, a moody perfectionist with an English title and a past he was running from.

It was late September and Kunimitsu and his party had been in the Yellowstone valley since early May. The weather was unusually warm for this time of year, but up here it could change overnight. He knew it was time for them to go; time to migrate farther south, or they would risk being caught by a sudden snow and not being able to leave until after spring thaw.

Yes, they should leave, and yet he continued to stay on, riding out each day to make a few more sketches. Already he had decided that tomorrow they would move their camp farther up river so they could be closer to the winter camp of the River Crow.

He sat before a small campfire, his brooding gaze fastened on the exotic dance of flames. He felt the artist in him come to life as surely as the dried wood had burst into flame before him. His glasses were glistening a bit.

With a million voices, the whole of creation called out to him, and his soul listened. Tremendous feelings coursed and howled within him, as strong and fierce as the winds that blew down from the Rockies. Even now, the need was there, the pressing need to express the things that stirred in his soul.

And he wondered if he would live long enough to paint them all.

He knew now that he would paint tonight, that he would go to his tent and paint feverishly, furiously, with a speed that seemed unnatural, even to him.

Maddened by the splendor of color and hues, he would give himself over to his passion, until his arm ached and the colors ran from his canvas to drip on the floor. And then, only then, would he sleep.

" '_Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes that fort yield at night which it besieged but in the morning; for there is no force able to resist it.' "_

The two men sitting across from the fire from him looked up.

One of them, a Japanese-Scottish scout who called himself Inui Sadaharu, mumbled something before writing in his notes and went back to eating the last bit of meat off the hind leg of a rabbit.

The other man, a Slender Japanese man named Niou Masaharu, tossed the remains of his rabbit into the fire. He was Tezuka's youngest and dearest friend.

"Are we waxing poetic again?" Niou smirked.

Kunimitsu put his plate of food down beside him, uneaten.

"And if we are?"

Niou whistled. "Three nights in a row. That's a new record, isn't it?"

Kunimitsu raised an eyebrow at him. "Are we keeping a tally?"

"Cervantes."

"Aa, _Don Quixote_."

A slight smile played about Kunimitsu's mouth for a split second, and then it was gone, leaving behind only the hint that he had been close to something he seemed to have forgotten: humor. "A good guess. Are you familiar with any other words by Cervantes?"

Niou laughed. "Come to think of it, no, but then you were always the scholar in school, not I."

Kunimitsu said nothing.

A few bites later, Inui dumped the remains of his food into the fire and pushed his glasses up to his nose. "I will see to the horses." Another push of his glasses and he walked toward the string of horses hobbled nearby.

Niou watched Inui move around the horses. "Aren't you going to eat?"

Kunimitsu looked down at the plate beside him. "Later."

"I'm not particularly enamored with eating rabbit three times a day, either~ Piyo~"

When Kunimitsu remained silent, Niou frowned. "What is bothering you? You've been brooding for days."

Mitsu was silent for a moment. Then he said, "I'm not sure, but I can't seem to shake this feeling I've had."

"What feeling is that?"

"Aa, something is gonna happen."

"You aren't getting morbid on me, are you?"

"No, I don't think so, but in a way, perhaps I am. You remember the night before Kawamura was killed?"

"Of course. It isn't everyday that one of your friends is killed in an avalanche. Is that what's eating you? His death?"

Mitsu shooked his head lightly, "No, but remember how we sat around a fire, very much like this one, the night before he died? Kawamura was despondent. He had been having the same dream every night… a dream that he was dying"

Niou rolled his eyes.

"And the next day he was killed. You aren't having dreams, are you? Like you are going to die?"

Kunimitsu did not answer.

"Well, if you are, that would be perfect, just perfect. Drag me along to this wild, godforsaken land and then die on me, leaving me here all alone, to fend for myself among a bunch of scalp-crazy savages."

Kunimitsu managed a warm smile. "No, I don't think I'm going to die, but something is going to happen. Something that will change my life."

"A perfect opportunity for me to recite the only quote I know. '_The Readiness is All_' Shakespeare, I think, but don't ask me to tell you which play."

"_Hamlet. '_There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, _'Tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now… The readiness is all.' _"

Niou shook his head. "I have never understood your powers of recall."

Mitsu heaved a copious sigh. "I ca spout lines of poetry, but I cannot remember the last time I slept in a bed, or lay between a woman's legs. "

"Now that I can remember… well, not the bed exactly, but the other is vivid in my mind."

"When was it then?"

"A couple of weeks back. How about you? "

"I told you, I have no idea. "

Niou seemed to mull that over in his mind a bit." Well, to tell you the truth, I can't remember either. " He groaned as he came to his feet. "I wonder if I'll ever become accustomed to sitting on the hard ground. After five minutes everything forgets how to function. "

He walked over to where Kunimitsu was sitting and clapped him on the back. "Cheer up, old chap. The way your life has been going , a change can mean only one thing."

"What?"

"That it's bound to get better."

Kunimitsu watched Niou walk away, then he turns his gaze back to the fire. He listened to the sounds of Niou settling down for the night. A few minutes later, he heard Niou sigh deeply and begin to snore.

How he envied Niou and his ability to sleep, his nights free of the haunts of his past.

As the moon above drenched the world below in loneliness, Mitsu picked up the sketchbook lying beside him and began to draw the angled lines of his boyhood home. Not the fashionable townhouse on St. James Street, but the sprawling country estate in Midlands. Emberly Hall, with it's slate roof and walled gardens.

He drew the ancient old oak that had branches enough for six swings that belonged to him and his five siblings -his brother, Keigo, and his four sisters; two eldest, Syuu and Seii, and the two younger that him, Kura and Akaya.

He turned the page again and sketched his mother, giving much lavish detail to the vividness of her eyes and the love and understanding he always found there, the fine lines around her mouth, the brown hair was turning gray in a becoming manner.

He scooted closer to the fire, wanting to capture the last reflections of light upon his sketch pad. He quickly added a bunch of fine lace at her throat, shading the fullness of her lower lip.

Next, he found himself sketching his cousin, Yudai Yamato, who was two years older than him. Yamato and Mitsu were as close as brothers. Brothers. The mere word seemed to pierce his heart. He thought about his only brother, Keigo, the younger brother he had always looked after. James, laughing and announcing his betrothal to their childhood playmate, Akutagawa.

James, the brother who lay in a shallow grave in the Crimea; the brother Mitsu betrayed before his handsome, lifeless body was cold.

He tried to sketch Keigo's face, but, as always, the pain got in the way. He could not bear the grief and the guilt, nor could he hold the memory for long without going mad. And so he tucked the vision away, dulling all the pain with the driving need to paint.

In quick succession, he turns the pages, sketching his sisters, one by one, capturing the memories of them, the spark of life, the characteristics that were as familiar to him as his own; the angelic smile Seii made; the stunning blue eyes of Syuu; the bandage Kura always had on her arms which is sometimes unladylike; the mischievous smile on Akaya's face.

Those completed, he turned the page to sketch the one person he had been avoiding; his father. For several minutes he stared down at the blankness if the paper, willing his father's likeness to appear there, feeling the same old mixture of pain and anger.

He slammed the sketchbook closed and pushed himself to his feet. He leaned over and picked up his plate of food, and with a quick movement, he tossed the joint of rabbit into the fire, watching a shower of sparks rise into the air accompanied by fierce popping.

Then he turned away and went into his tent, where he painted through the night, losing himself once again in the serenity of sunlit, golden plains.

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Ne ne? How was it? O 3 O  
Who wants Red Velvet Cake~? ^-^


	3. Ton II

owo, never thought I wrote the next chapter so fast. :I Am I even human? lol. jk, jk. :D :D  
And,  
FranscoiseLaraLapis - Yep, you sure are right~ In other words, mostly OC here.. Well, that's because I think nobody other than Tezuka fits in this role.. because of something.. XD In the end, you'll know~ :]

animelover4ever69 - Want some cake? :3

platypuslover - Yes, your correct.. I am telling how they will both meet.. so cake? XD

Well, here's chapter two and it would be about Ryoma..  
And I don't own Prince of Tennis~

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_Ryoma . . . Ryoma . . . Ryoma . . ._

__The words haunted her—scattered bits of a lullaby, a song that surrounded her with the warmth of a mother's arms and a long-forgotten time, fragments of a part of her life she could not remember, secrets to her identity that came down twilight paths woven of countless threads; threads that shimmered just beyond her reach; brightly colored ribbons for which she would reach, trying to grasp one narrow streamer, on connection to who she was and from where she had come.

But as always, they were elusive, just beyond her grasp.

The moment she reached for them and had them in the palm of her hand, the voices would disappear; the bright colors of the ribbons would fade away, and she would wake, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short gasps, the answer she searched for no closer to her now than it had been on that day so long ago when it was sealed away.

Her eyes flew open.

In a rush of rampant feeling, she could not, for a moment, remember where she was. Trancelike, she raised a hand to her forehead. She recalled the dream and wondered why it always ended the same way, without her knowing anything more than scattered images about the parents that had given birth to her: bodies without face; voices without names…

She saw an old Indian woman watching her and she remembered.

A short while later, Walks Fast perfumed her hair with bear's grease and sweet-smelling herbs and plaited it into two long braids. Old grandmother, the Crow woman with whom she had lived for the past five years, asked her if she was afraid.

"I am not afraid," she answered, speaking of the language of the Crow perfectly, "but I fear the unknown. I would rather stay here, with you." She glanced at the ancient-looking woman and felt the only human connection she had felt with an Indian since her captivity over twenty years ago. Old grandmother was the only one who had been kind to her during her captivity.

How many changes had come into her life? How many transformations? And yet, she had survived each one.

She learned at a young age that nothing in life was accomplished without a great deal of pain. She learned also that survival did not always outweigh that pain. She thought about the new life she was beginning and wondered what would happen next to her now—not that it mattered, for there was nothing that could be done to her that had not already been done.

She had paid the price.

Only the pain of remembrance remained. For the third time, she was to be traded to another Indian tribe. This time it was the Mandan Sioux.

Old Grandmother took Walk Fast's face between her aged palms. "Do not be sad, and do not be afraid. You are a _bii'tsi, _a good woman. I have had a revelation and do not worry for you. In my vision, I saw a woman with dark green hair being carried away by a great and powerful eagle."

"What does it mean?"

"Perhaps, you will catch the eye of some handsome Mandan warrior and he will carry you away to a new life."

"And like others, he will grow fearful of me and I will be traded again." Walks Fast countered.

Outside the tent, a brave spoke, telling Old Grandmother the Mandan warriors had assembled. "They wish to see the captive."

Her heart began to pound, and Walks Fast suddenly felt terrified by the prospect of being traded again. Dread forced her to close her eyes for a moment, to concentrate on the uncertainty of her future.

There had been many times like this in her life when she was called upon to sell her very soul in order to survive. She was nothing more than a thin shell, a lost soul; a body without a spirit, a heart without a beat . . . alive, but with no beginning . . . no family . . . no past.

Long ago, she learned to compromise, to give up that which was important to her in order to survive. Because of that, she had no knowledge of who she was or from where she had come.

Her identity was as lost to her as the family from whom she had been stolen twenty years ago.

Whenever she looked at her reflection in the river, nothing stared back.

"Do not worry." Old Grandmother was saying. "Some of our finest and most prized horses have been traded many times. Now, go. Two Leggings has come for you. Do not anger Many Coups by being late, He would not deal kindly with you if he were to lose face before the Mandans. "

To honor Old Grandmother was saying, Walks Fast did not cry, but held herself proudly as she lifted the flap of the tipi and stepped outside.

Two Leggings waited for her and she fell in step behind him. She watched the back of his head, not needing to see where she was going. She had made this trip many times and knew the way to the tipi of the chief, Many Coups.

Only today was different. Today she would not join in the celebration after the Crows finished trading with the Mandans. Today, when the Mandans left the Crow village, she would be going with them.

Once again, she would have to adapt.

Her torment was adaptability. It was also her strength, her saving grace. Part of her life had come to a close, and like the changing of seasons, a new life for her was beginning. Once again, she was calling upon her inner strength, her ability to change, to adapt-just as the coat of the varying hare turned from summer brown to winter white when the time for snows came.

Once again she would have to submit.

The torment had begun . . . .

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That's for Chapter 2 :]  
Oreos, anyone? XD


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